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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365671">waiting for your dream to wake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecropia/pseuds/cecropia'>cecropia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Zuko (Avatar), Sharing a Bed, Sokka (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, bc I’m original</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:35:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecropia/pseuds/cecropia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Zuko’s arms around him feel oddly foreign; the hands cradling the back of his neck too soft and warm, his touch too gentle, his chest too firm and steady against Sokka’s damp forehead.</p>
<p>It’s not usually like this. </p>
<p>(Or: Sokka doesn’t know how to let people take care of him. Zuko tries anyway.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>324</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>waiting for your dream to wake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello!!!!<br/>I’m back for the first time in MONTHS and I’m posting in a new fandom. My bad. <br/>Also this is my first ATLA fic so!!! Pls be nice. Ty ily guys &lt;3</p>
<p>Title is from Good Thoughts by Well Kept bc it was in my head the whole time I wrote this!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Zuko’s arms around him feel oddly foreign; the hands cradling the back of his neck too soft and warm, his touch too gentle, his chest too firm and steady against Sokka’s damp forehead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not usually like this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka shouldn’t even be here, not like this. He should be massaging Zuko’s sore back or applying that one soothing cream to his scars or combing gently through his hair or kissing him stupid. He should be dragging his lips down Zuko’s torso, right over the scar he tries to hide; should be caressing the ribs that press tight against Zuko’s skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka</span>
  </em>
  <span> should be the one holding </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span> to his chest, combing lightly through his hair with his fingers, not the other way around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who deserves this much care. This much love. Sokka’s problems aren’t bad enough, they aren’t severe enough. They aren’t even worth sparing a thought about, and yet—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At first, Sokka had resisted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He’d insisted, giving Zuko a plastered-on smile and an ingenuine eye roll. Zuko furrowed his brow as Sokka huffed in his general direction. “You can put the lamp out now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...You’re sweating,” Zuko pointed out after a moment’s silence, but did so anyway. The room was swathed in black. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>duh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sokka said obnoxiously, face heating as he settled into Zuko’s silk sheets, “Water tribe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>South Pole</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>born</span>
  </em>
  <span> to run hotter than usual just to survive— and plus, it’s always been way too hot here anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>unaware</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his rambling, or of the fact that that last sentence probably struck a nerve in Zuko’s ever-guilty conscience, but Sokka’s bluffs are never left un-called. Zuko could probably see right through him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the cold season,” Zuko replied immediately, shifting closer. Sokka couldn’t see him in the dark, but he crossed his arms and flipped onto his back anyway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>, okay,” Sokka scoffed, bristling at Zuko’s tentative touch. “‘S never been cold here. I know cold, alright? This isn’t even chilly—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it. I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You were... thrashing around, Sokka—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I used to sleepwalk, you know. It could’ve just as easily been that. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka had given himself away. As if Zuko didn’t know already. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You woke up crying—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>what—</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>So</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re being </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>defensive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you’re one to talk, Zuko.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He heard Zuko’s hair shift on the satin pillow. A muffled, frustrated sigh came from Zuko’s side of the bed. One soft, pleading word came next: </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then Sokka was there. He was on the trolley, glancing behind himself and seeing only a wide expanse of bubbling water; boiling, angry. He heard his mother screaming, he heard Katara’s cries, Ozai’s laughter, Yue’s distant voice; the bones in his leg were snapping, Zuko was reaching for him, calling his name. He wasn’t strong enough. Zuko was slipping, crying; he was being thrown into the air with a lightning bolt to the chest—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tears started pricking at his eyes. “I— I need some air,” Sokka gasped out, voice cracking. He started to sit up, wiping aggressively at his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand reached blindly for him in the dark. It landed hard on his shoulder, nails digging into his skin just enough to avoid being too painful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me help you,” Zuko whispered. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka opened his mouth to speak, to deny him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You… you help everyone else so much,” Zuko gritted out instead. “You’re the— </span>
  <em>
    <span>the plan guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Let me… plan. For you.” He stopped. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know what I—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Sokka whispered, curling in on himself. Zuko’s grip loosened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He asked, sitting up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sokka said, a little annoyed, a little louder this time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zuko’s breath was on the back of his neck. Both of his hands landed gently on Sokka’s chest, cheek resting on his shoulder blade. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come back to bed,” Zuko said softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you... want to tell me about it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka’s head is nestled in the crook of Zuko’s neck, Zuko’s fingers trailing up and down the shaved part of his hair either in an attempt to soothe him or just because he likes the feeling. Maybe both. Sokka doesn’t mind either way. It’s reminiscent of when his mother would try to soothe him to sleep with a hand through his hair, and his heart clenches at the memory. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Sokka declares too loudly after a moment, voice breaking slightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Zuko whispers into his temple. He readjusts his grip on Sokka, gathering him further into his arms and bringing one hand up to hold Sokka’s head stable against him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sokka says despite himself, groaning. “No. I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s okay,” Zuko says softly, patiently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it?” Sokka all but snaps, nuzzling further into Zuko’s neck and clutching at his back. “Is it </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span> that this still happens? Even… even </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> after the war ended?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sokka—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can still see it. I can see all of it. I can— I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, I can h… I can hear it— </span>
  <em>
    <span>spirits</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> it—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about right now?” Zuko asks him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What can you hear?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka lets out a harsh gust of air, shaking his head where it rests on Zuko’s collarbone. His breaths are coming faster now, shallower. He can feel his fingers digging slightly into the skin of Zuko’s back through his robes. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t—</span>
  </em>
  <span> I told you already—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not— I </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what can you hear right now? In this room?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka stops. He takes a deep, shuddering breath in. He can hear Zuko’s steady breathing, the rustling of the curtains, the chirp of crickets, a faraway train— </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What's this got to do with—?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just tell me,” Zuko says, and Sokka can hear the slight exasperated smile in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I guess. Um… crickets. Outside the window.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Zuko says into his hair. “Another.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You,” Sokka replies easily. He’s not sure if he means Zuko’s voice or the pace of his breathing, but either way, it brings attention to his own. He takes a slow breath in, letting it out in a hot sigh against Zuko’s neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zuko hums. “Good. Tell me one more.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… um. The wind. Moving the curtains.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excellent,” Zuko whispers, dragging his nails lightly down the back of Sokka’s neck. It makes him shiver. “Now tell me three things you can feel.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hands,” Sokka mumbles immediately, suddenly becoming hyper aware of his own. He loosens his grip on Zuko’s robes only slightly. “Your robes, and… and when you talk, I can feel it in your throat. Against my cheek.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zuko’s hands travel upward, combing through Sokka’s loose hair and pushing it away from his neck. Sokka sighs, slowly blinking his eyes closed and letting himself melt into the touch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Zuko murmurs after a second, and Sokka’s eyes are open again in an instant. “Tired?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess so,” Sokka yawns almost on command. “You’re, like… a nightmare bender.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zuko laughs with a single breath out through his nose. “It’s… I don’t even think I did it right. My mom, when I was little, she, uh… I’d have these panic attacks? And she’d always make me pay attention to what was happening around me. It was… grounding. It’s supposed to be a five senses kind of thing, and they go in a certain order, but… I can’t remember anymore...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zuko trails off with a tired sigh. Sokka feels his warm hands come to rest on the back of his neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sokka breathes, still hesitant to say what he really wants to say to Zuko, what he’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say, a dull weight pulling at his eyelids and settling at the back of his skull. His hands fall from Zuko’s back as he allows the blanket of sleep to pull him in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t say a word, just ducks his chin down to rest his lips on Sokka’s forehead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sokka supposes they don’t need to say it, really. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both already know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
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